“Heigh ho, here we go, over the sea to the land of the free,” echoed a bantering voice above him.
He looked up. There among the spreading branches of a resplendent copper beech overhead was his wife. She was at her old trick of climbing trees. And in that hundred dollar gown, and his mind lately drawn to pecuniary matters again grew burdened.
However, it would not do to let her see his anxiety, so he said, quietly: “Why did you go up there, Nina?”
“Because I was afraid you would scold me,” she said, with mock solemnity.
“About chivying the noble son of an earl.”
“You were not polite.”
“Then let him give you your proper title,” she said, hotly. “He doesn’t like to be called by his last name.”
“They don’t mean anything by it here,” said her husband, wearily. “Different countries, different customs. Whenever I carry grandees on the Merrimac they call me by my surname.”
“They won’t do it when I am about,” she said, with decision. “You are as good as anybody. What is the matter with you this evening?”